


It all returns (to Nothing)

by BloomTwist



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, Bad Future, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Omen!Noctis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloomTwist/pseuds/BloomTwist
Summary: All Prompto had wanted was someone to see his worth, to see him for himself and to earn a few kind words for himself only.But not like this. Not when the Lucian King unleashed eternal horrors on the world and Prompto can hear the pleas and screams of despair outside the Citadel's doors.





	It all returns (to Nothing)

**Author's Note:**

> The Au where Noctis wins and everyone loses (or mostly everyone). A.k.a. the FFXV where everything is the same except Lucis is the one from FFXIII Versus. This is not exactly a happy one. 
> 
> *jazz hands* Tumblr migration? Tumblr Migration. I am going to still be active there, but I'm moving all my fics over here just in case.  
>  ~~If someone has any idea on how to mix moodboards with text here in AO3 I'm all ears~~

 

The wails and monstrous howls outside these gates haunt Prompto's soul.

The venerable Oracle had told him to trust in the Lucian King. He ought to have heed King Ravus’ words of caution and rancor instead.

But he hadn’t. He’d been amazed by the King and his entourage. He had believed and aided his noble quest to retrieve the Crystal taken away from his people -even if it meant his death.

Once he’d been just a Magitech Knight, given as a goodwill present by the Empire to the service of the Oracle. He’d been the Oracle’s envoy when she couldn’t move to help the Lucian King. He’d been fierce in battle and encouraging to young warriors. He’d been a shield to the helpless and a shelter for those in need.

Once he’d been destined to die at twenty. After all, the body the Empire had created for him, strong and resistant, came with an expiry date.

He’s twenty four now, and knows he’ll live longer. Longer than the Oracle, now dead. Or her brother, who was killed three days ago. He hadn’t seen his demise, but he’d felt it, felt the death of the last member of the oracle line.

“It’s in your blood,” The King had said, words whispered hotly against his neck -and yet the hands that held him were so  _cold_. “Now that you’re tied to mine, you can feel it, can feel _us_.”

The King had healed him. The King had loved him. The King had cherished him… and in return, he’d loved, healed, and cherished in equal measure. He had given all, even before he’d entertained the notion of his affections ever being returned.

If only he’d seen the shackles in the form of sweet words. The chains in the form of small gifts, of flower rings, of the hand set firmly on his side in every picture they had taken together. Then he would have known and…

...and then what?

Here in front of the main gates of the Citadel, he's aware of the enormity of their difference in powers. There is nothing he could have done to stop the Lucian King, or his ever loyal entourage. Here in the welcome hall -alone except for the howls and the desperate cries of people begging for a safe haven and meeting their bloody end at the maws of monsters-, he knows he wouldn’t have changed a thing.

He is minuscule. His impact nothing but a speck of dust in the myriad of roads and connections on Eos -and somehow, the King had seen in him something greater. Something worth loving, holding, have as company and confidence.

(All he had ever wanted was someone to see his worth, to see him for himself and to earn a few kind words for himself only.

But never this way. Never)

Footsteps break his musings, and Prompto doesn’t need to turn, doesn’t even need to hear a voice to know who it is. His skin tingles and somewhere inside him, between his heartbeats and breaths, resonates the joyous melody of being next to the one he belongs.  

“There you are. Specs informed you would be here tonight,” Prompto hears the words, feels them wrap around his shoulders like a weighty shawl -like an iron net.

He turns and bows, taking those precious seconds to muster courage, to even out his voice. “Your Majesty.”

The king shakes his head.

“I’ve told you Prompto,” the King reminds with a faint smile, taking his hand. Once he’d fallen for the tenderness of the gesture, had melted when one hand took his, gentle and loving. Now he sees the tumultuous desire underneath, the madness and mania shining in his eyes. “In here, with just the two of us, there is no need for titles,” he continues and kisses his hand, soft and devastatingly gentle, those red eyes never leaving his.

(Prompto hates himself even more because… because his treacherous heart still wobbles for it just like the first time, uncaring that it’s owner is a monster in human form)

He smiles, lips twitching, and he doesn’t know if it is out of habit, sincerity or fear. “Noctis…” The King's smile broadens, and with a squeeze tugs him closer. The arms holding him tonight are warm. If Prompto closes his eyes for a moment, and feigns deafness, he can imagine everything is fine. That Ethro's door wasn't torn open. That the Chancellor of Niflheim was an evil man. That the Empire had no justification in stealing the Crystal from Lucis.

If he closes his eyes he can imagine they are outside, somewhere beautiful like Accordo, hugging after a day filled with games and pictures and- 

There is a feeble bang against the doors, followed by the pleas of someone too young. A child.

Prompto freezes. No. No, not this, just-

The sounds of chaos and death dial up and that’s all Prompto can hear, can imagine -and a child is outside. They will die or _worse_ out there, while he’s here, safe from the horrors the Lucian King unleashed in the world.  

“Let me go!” He pleads, eyes burning while the screams of the child pitch louder and louder in anguish and the -and then, they stop.

The King frowns and then sighs. “You know I won’t allow it.”

Prompto tries to take his hand back, but is clutched like a vice, cold, unmoving and unforgiving. “I can’t stay here Noctis. I must help everyone, someone, anyone!”

Noctis’ frown deepens. His displeasure tangible. “You would die”

Prompto's stomach twists, he can hear the sounds of chewing and just imagining what could have happened. He shuts his eyes but even then, tears roll down. He growls, despondently opening his eyes and looking back straight to the only one he ever loved and now… “It doesn’t matter as long as I can save even just one single life!”

Noctis blinks, and in an instant his anger is gone. He coos lovingly and caresses his cheek with one hand, thumb delineating his lower lip. His gaze is kind and Prompto knows he  _means_  it. “But you’ve already saved someone, Prompto” The King says, voice warm and sweet.

“You’ve saved yourself,” Noctis explains in the same tone, and kisses him in the hall while the sound of violence reverberates in the walls.

 

(He’d used the same tone the first time they kissed. It had been in the roof of a building, and Prompto was a mess of emotions and regretting ever spitting them out, and in such an unromantic place. Noctis had cooed too, enveloping him with his arms, and put his worries to rest with soothing words and the sweetest of kisses.) 

(That night, in the roof of an hotel, among kisses and joy he’d forgotten to ask why Noctis’ eyes were red. But now he knew, now that his own eyes were red too.)


End file.
